Listen
by so-its-now-or-never-isn't-it
Summary: Ron and Hermione share a moment in the beginning of the end. DH during the Battle of Hogwarts. Rated T for just a little bit of language.


**Author's Note: I wrote this because I've always wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to when they heard Voldemort's first ultimatum. Everything belongs to JKR.**

After the chaos of their arrival, the whole castle seemed to be holding its breath. Only then did the screaming begin.

They had been running down vacant staircases to the second floor girl's bathroom when they heard it. Ron came to quick stop and whirled around; Hermione, being two steps behind him, ran into his chest. He closed his free arm around her waist to stabilize her. In his other hand, he had raised his wand. All was quiet.

"D'you hear that?"

Ron looked down and felt his ears go red; Hermione's head was more or less tucked under his chin. He let his arm drop from her, a bit reluctantly, and she stepped back from him. With her standing on the step above him, they were at eye level with each other. Hermione made the softest gasping sound as she drew in a breath.

The screaming sounded again.

It was distant and muted, coming from another part of the castle. Ron eyes broke from Hermione's to search around them. He scoured the tall ceiling for the black smoke of a Death Eater's Apparation. There was none. It was silent now. All they could hear was their own heavy breathing and the occasional staircase snapping in place above them.

Ron looked straight ahead at Hermione. His eyes met with her startled, yet lovely pair of brown ones. There was just enough time for him to register the mix of confusion and panic on her face before another scream was heard.

It was a different voice. Two screams were going at once. They bounced and echoed off the high stone walls, making the direction from which they came difficult to decipher. It soon came over Ron that there was something about this moment-something about the the echo and distant nature of the staggered screaming, something about the fear in every chord and his inability to stop it that was hauntingly familiar.

He lowered his eyes once more, so Hermione could fill his vision. Her head turned helplessly in all directions, and she seemed likely to run towards the screams. Ron imagined the sight of her figure growing smaller and smaller as she'd fly down a corridor away from him, just like how small she had become in that dark drawing room, when he had been pulled from her side...

Ron shook his head, as if he could rock the memory from his mind, but another soon replaced it. It took place in a different shadowed room, a more familiar and safe one. He remembered how she'd settled onto the cushions that he'd argued to give her. He remembered how the panes of moonlight fell upon her face. He remembered the words he had sworn with her, what they had promised each other with their hands joined. Their vocalizations and physical positions had erased any space left between them. _I will never leave you._

Ron could not forgive himself for how he'd broken that vow. Tonight, he was going to make sure it never happened again.

His free hand dropped quickly and circled Hermione's upper arm. She looked to him, with loose hairs framing her face and her eyes locked in urgency.

"We can't," said Ron. The tension of her body seemed to ease up a bit, but she didn't lower her wand-sounds of distant cries could still be heard. "We've got to get the Chamber."

"But Ron, what if-?"

"What if it's all started?" He had finished her thought. Being best friends for seven years would give you that ability. "If it's started, it won't stop until we've got a way to destroy the horcruxes, starting with the cup."

She bit down on her lip and he knew she was fighting. She was utilizing every square inch of her brilliant mind to try and argue with him.

"I know," she said, "but Ron, if people are _dying_...why don't you let me go to the Chamber, and you-?"

"No!" Ron said quickly. "I'm not leaving you."

Hermione grabbed a hold of his other arm as she pleaded with him. "This isn't about me, Ron. What about your whole family-?"

"You _are_ family!"

Ron saw something in her face change. He watched her eyes widen, and her lips part, as of she meant to speak but no words were coming. A long string of curses went off in Ron's head. _I've said too much, I've said too much..._

And then it started. The hiss behind his ears.

He twisted his head around and saw an empty staircase. There was no one there. The torches were suddenly dimmed. The horrible sound was seeping in from all directions, amplifying through the stairwell until it's series of sinister-sounding slurs was overwhelming. It wasn't just noise-it was a voice.

Only one sound could reach him through the impending disorder, and it belonged to Hermione. The sharp intake of breath and a small cry that could've only come from her. He looked down, realizing how close they were. If he lowered his head, their foreheads would touch.

"Hermione?"

She moved her head to each side and looked over her shoulder. Her breath quickened.

A thought itched at his mind. _The screams_, he thought. _This is why they're screaming_.

Just as she began to wince, Ron brought his hands up to her head and pressed them flat against her ears. As her fingers curled around his forearms, the voice-dripping with Parseltongue inflections, but speaking in in clear English-hit him.

"_I know that you are preparing to fight_."

Ron grimaced. It was like Voldemort's drawling voice had made its way inside his head.

"_Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me_."

He could feel Hermione's heartbeat from how their chests were resting against each other. She was hearing every word, despite his efforts-her eyes could tell him that much. They were full of fear that he was surely reflecting. But Ron refused to look away or drop his hands from her ears. He wasn't going to move a single inch.

"_I do not want to kill you_."

Ron felt the slight shake of shuddering bones. Whether the trembling was his own, Hermione's, or a combined effort, he pressed closer to her and she to him.

"_I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood_."

They held their breath together.

"_Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed_."

Ron felt Hermione's hands tighten their grip on his arms. He brushed his thumbs lightly against her skin, trying to soothe her.

"_Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded_."

The words seemed to reverberate around the stone-walled stairwell. Ron willed himself to focus on Hermione, rather than the feeling of dread that was welling up inside him.

"_You have until midnight_."

And just like the voice had come, it faded out slowly, hissing violently as it left their ears. Ron drew his eyes away from Hermione to look behind her. The flames of the torches had returned to full strength. It was like a great fog had been lifted. They were left to the noise of their own heaving lungs and drumming heartbeats once more.

Ron jumped at the feeling of weight settling on him. He found Hermione had dropped her forehead to his chest. He moved his hands from her ears to place one around her body and one to stroke her hair, like he'd done less than a year ago, on the dreary morning of a funeral in July...

Minutes past before he felt her stir and heard a muffled voice against his shirt.

"What was that?" he asked softly, and he moved both arms to her waist. For some reason, he wasn't afraid to hold her. Not at all. And when Hermione lifted her head, he was glad to see there were no tears in her eyes, but she still looked very tired and worried. Her arms moved to rest over his.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"What you said, about family..." she started, wrinkling his sleeve between her fingers. "Do..do you think of me like a sister?"

Ron steadied himself and his grip on Hermione's body. "No," he said, trying to silence his throbbing heart. "I don't."

For once, he found it difficult to read her expression, but he swore he saw a mixed look of relief and hope soften her face...or was that his own wishful thinking?

"And, am I..." Ron had begun before he could stop himself. "Do you think of me like Harry? Like a brother to you?"

Ron knew his eyes were playing no tricks. Her lips were hinting at a small smile.

"No," she whispered. "Not at all."

And Ron Weasley wanted nothing more than to snog the living daylights out of her.

But he knew he couldn't. If he started, he wouldn't stop. Not for anything. Not if full-fledged war broke out around them, and it was about to. So instead of giving in, instead of lifting her practically irresistible lips to his, he looked at her and groaned.

"Fucking hell..."

He swung his arm around her neck and gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead before she buried her face in his chest for the second time that night. He couldn't seem to keep his lips off her-he pressed them to the top of her head once she'd settled into his arms. It was an embrace that changed everything. With just a few words exchanged and a few chaste kisses given, they suddenly found themselves with much more to lose.

Not too far below, Ron heard footsteps and loud voices approaching. He knew these staircases would soon be flooded with soldiers. War was imminent.

He moved his hands from Hermione's body to hold her face. He lowered his head and their foreheads met in the middle.

"Hermione," he began, surprised to find his voice strained with emotion, "if we don't have much time left..."

"Ron-!"

"Listen!" he said, nearly shouting. "I don't want to waste what we've got left. I don't want to be...apart from you."

He felt her hot breath against his cheek. Her eyes were so close that they blurred into each other.

"Not today, not tomorrow, not for whatever the length of this bloody war will be. Not ever."

"You're not going to die," Hermione said, in her matter-of-fact voice. She tugged at the lapels of his jacket. "You _won't_. We'll make it, I promise."

He pulled her into tight hug, letting his eyes close and his face drop into her shoulder. Feeling his breaths even and his eyes dry, he released her. He watched his long, knotted fingers intertwine with her small, porcelain ones.

"The Chamber," she said confidently, and he lifted his head. Wizards and witches were already filing up and down the staircase on which they stood.

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "The Chamber."


End file.
